I started going to school in tenth grade. I know, I’m a late bloomer. As you all know, prior to that, I spent my childhood being homeschooled. My first semester in school, I received a 4.0. I found it to be extremely easy. My second semester, I signed up for home ec. “An easy ‘A,'” everyone would say. I was sure that was right: all As were easy for me then.
In home ec, I had to make a quilt. And then pajama pants and then a pillow. I spent the whole semester on that damn quilt, and when it was finished, it was half the size of everyone else’s. It was a crib size quilt. I rushed through the pajama pants and never made it onto the pillow. For the dinner I was required to make the class, I made banquet chicken out of the box.
Our school had grade check every six weeks. Grade check ensured you could stay enrolled in your extra-curricular activities. Grade check came around and I received an “F” in home ec. An “F.” Much to my teammates excitement, I was kicked off the tennis team. I had to spend my afternoons after school in that home ec room, finishing my damn quilt.
I love homemade things. I wish I could whip up a nice quilt to use in the basement. I saw the most adorable first baby book made like twenty different quilt squares and then embroidered and I wanted to make one for my friend Melinda’s baby Asher. I saw a stocking with a dog and I wanted to make it for Tucker. But anytime the creative mood strikes me, I think of home ec and how it just ain’t happening. I’m not a domestic woman. Even if I was homeschooled for 10 years.